Out along the harbour reach
Boats stand dried up on the beach
Ghost-like in the early dawn
Empty now the fish are gone
What will become of people now
Trying to build a life somehow
Hard hard times are back again
No more fish, no fishermen

No more shoppers in the stores
Since the fish plant closed its doors
Men who walked a trawler’s decks
Now line up for welfare cheques
There’s big “For sale” signs everywhere
Pockets empty, cupboards bare
See it on the news at ten
No more fish, no fishermen

Once from Ship Cove to Cape Race
Port-au-basques to Harbour Grace
Newfoundlanders fished for cod
Owing merchants trusting God
They filled their dories twice a day
They fished their poor sweet lives away
They could not imagine then
No more fish, no fishermen

Back before the second war
We could catch our fish inshore
Boats were small and gear was rough
We caught fish but left enough
And now there’s no more fish because
The trawler fleets took all there was
We could see it coming then
No more fish, no fishermen

Farewell now to stage and flake
Get out for the children’s sake
Leave all friends and kin behind
Take whatever job you find
There’s some that say things aren’t so black
They say the fish will all come back
Who’ll be here to catch them then
No more fish, no fishermen

In Canso Strait our vessel lay:
We just arrived in from the Bay.
Our vessel built both stout and strong
To Gloucester she does belong.

We were homeward bound and ready for sea
When our drunken captain got on a spree.
He came on board and to us did say:
"Get your anchor, lads, and fill her away."

We filled her away at his command.
With all sails set we left the land,
Leaviny Sand Point all on our lee
As we sailed into a heavy sea.

The night came on and dark clouds lower;
The wind, did howl and breakers roar.
An angry squall and the angry sky
It put her down at half-mast high.

We kindly asked him to shorten sail
Or we'd all be lost in the heavy gale.
He turned and swore if the wind would blow
He'd show us how his boat could go:

"I am captain here and I will not fail
For to shoot the first man to touch a sail
Then up speaks one of our bravest men:
"There's nine of us right here at hand

"We'll reef her down and to sea we'll go,
If he interferes, lash him down below.
We'll reef her down to a steady steer
From those breaking waves as she disappears

We're heading up the Cape Shore now
As she knocks the white foam from her bow.
Ouu jib-sheet tore, in the wind it flew;
We hauled it down and bent our new.

We were homeward bound with great success
Like some lonely seagull seeking rest.
When I get home no more I'll sail
With a drunken captain in a heavy gale.

It's of a flash packet, a packet of fame,
She belongs to New York and Dom Pedro's her name,
She's rammed up and jammed up on deck and below,
We're bound for Shanghai in the Dom Ped-er-o,

Ch: Singing down, down, down derry down!

Now the pilot came down and these words he did say,
"Get ready, me boys, the ship's going away."
We braced up our yards and we gave her the slip,
And it's down Boston harbor that packet did rip.

Oh, it's now we are sailing down off of Cape Cod,
Where many a hard flashy packet has trod;
The wind it breezed up and the water did boil,
And at eight bells that night we clewed up our main royal.

And now we are sailing down on to the Line;
We catched all the rain-water, we had plenty of time;
We filled up our casks, as you now plainly see,
And then shaped our course for the port of Shanghai.

Now the captain is aft and he's reading a book;
He'll come for'ard bimeby and he'll growl at the cook;
He will lift up his eyes to the blessings of God
Over a plate of boiled rice and some rusty salt cod.

It's now we're arrived in the port of Shanghai;
We'll go ashore, shipmates, strange faces to see.
We'll lay up aloft and we'll furl all our sails,
Excepting the spanker that hangs in the brails.

Now our cargoʻs discharged and we are taking in;
We're expecting to go back to Boston ag'in;
And when we get there so jolly we'll be,
We'll be twenty merry sports all the way from Shanghai.